quickie
October 4, 2007

About to drive to Kickboxing at the Y, then come home, shower, paint my toenails Amelia Redheart, and see what Alana has to say to me tonight when we have dinner at her place.

The thing is, I got a phone number from a customer last night at work. A cute, sweet, smart, Southern customer. Who’s practically my age.

The potential drama is as thick as the humidity today. We need a good rain to clear the air.

Major updates to come.

fag hag is out. lesbro is in.
October 2, 2007

Well, there’s that awful term  “fag hag.” So what is the term for a metrosexual straight guy that hangs out incessantly with his lipstick lesbian friend, during which time they admire and occasionally bitch about women and have passionate discussions about art and fashion? 

Basically, Jane and I were pondering what we should call Ford.

We spent most of yesterday evening while we were cleaning the house calling ideas from room to room. I was swiffering the kitchen and screamed, “Dykelike?” And Jane yelled from the vacuum in the front room, “No, sounds too much like dick lick! How about lesbian bro? LESBRO!” We cackled, but knew it was a fit.

Thus, my lesbro was christened. Ford isn’t what you’d call feminine, per say, in the culture’s weird narrow version of that word. He’s 6’2″, and he’s a total gym rat so he’s got the David Beckham bod thing going on (apparently that’s hot? to me it just looks very…structural…I can admire it like the Chrysler building), glacial blue eyes, dark brown hair with sideburns grown just a little bit long, but impeccably trimmed. He shows up most of the time in a bright polo and dress pants. Thankfully he’s never popped the collar. And one thing I will say– he smells divine.

He came over yesterday afternoon after Alana did NOT call. He brought over this loose rose petal green tea for us to make in the kickass clear glass tea pot Jane got me for graduation. Then we lolled on my bed and watched the episode of Sex and the City where SJP tries to get Aidan to go out with her but he just wants to sit on his bed and eat KFC and watch sports.

<Mutual wailing>

Ford: Ewww.

Darcy: How do they proceed with their relationship after that? Seriously Ford, how does she actually have sex with that guy after she has seen a bucket of chicken resting on his stomach?

Ford: I have NO idea. God she looks so good in those strappy gold shoes, wait go back.

<I rewind on the DVD player>

<we pause>

Darcy: So hot.

<He mumbles in agreement with a mouth full of kettle corn and feeds me the last piece in the bowl, our eyes still glued>

Then, as is our custom, he brought in some shirts from his car that he “wanted me to look at.” Which means he changes in the bathroom and parades out for me and Jane to give either the ‘thumb’s up’ or ‘thumb’s down.’ Boy has money for clothes, I tell you. Boy’s parents do at least. We gave him the thumb’s up on this darling black dress shirt with visible grey stitching…it was just the right amount of 70’s.

You’d think Jane would be all over this guy. But, as she’ll tell you herself, she’s more into that asshole you see with a dirty busted baseball cap at a bar, sitting with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Her idea of courtship is an upwards nod in her direction.

We just don’t get it. My lesbro and I.

re: hott neighbor
September 28, 2007

Let’s do the time warp (again) to junior high maturity level. I had Ford do some recon on The Downstairs Neighbor and the marriage situation. She mentioned her partner, Bill, a couple of times in conversation, with whom she has been living for ten years. But also mentioned an ex-girlfriend she broke up with last year. So I was confused. Ford chatted her up last night and apparently she is in some kind of open relationship situation. Which would explain why she kept touching the small of my back while we were walking around looking at her art. Maybe.

She called me though. She called my cell, and when it lit up and buzzed on the kitchen table, and the caller ID said “Alana,” I nearly had a heart attack full of awkward glee. Speaking of junior high, it’s the, ah gee, I am special feeling, which never changes no matter how old I get and I get a call from a woman I really like. I know you’re not supposed to depend on validation of your attractiveness or intelligence from other people, but…come on. I’m all for healthy self esteem, but that notion is so woo-woo self-help-book and a little boring. Did I mention how cool she is? ::junior high self does a little dance in a circle and points disco hands a few times::

We’re going to a Thai place on the corner of her block and then back to her place for painting. Nervous, nervous. Note to self: two glasses of wine at dinner, tops.

In other news, my first day of work at Poe’s was actually great. I love the people there. Some dude dropped a fifty dollar tip for me too.